


The Faithless Ship.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin's Bane - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Nimrodel when the balrog woke.14: "Ophelia"
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	The Faithless Ship.

Nimrodel had been uneasy all day, there was a thickness in the air as though a storm drew near, yet the sky was clear and blue. The disturbance came not from the air but rather up through the ground. Curious, she lay flat and pressed her ear against the rock. The life of Lothlórien was all about her, elves running singing through the mallorns, all was well. But the mountains seemed to tremble, she was reminded for a moment of the terrors of the War of Wrath, when the world had been changed.   
She sprang to her feet and ran swiftly up the hill, almost dancing through the trees, singing greetings as she passed in an ever changing music that wove through the endless song of the river. But the birds were silent, and as Nimrodel listened, she felt a tremor run through the earth, and the birds all rose into the air, in a silence more frightening than any call they could have uttered.   
Nimrodel paused and looked about her, there was nothing near, yet something had happened, a great fall of rocks, perchance. She hurried on up the hill to the talan she had chosen, for the view, and for the river. From the great height of the mighty mallorn, Nimrodel could see out over the roof of the golden forest, to Anduin in the east, and to Rhovanion beyond. And to the north, and west, the mountains, and there at the peak of Fanuidhol the beacon of the dwarves was lit, the sign, time out of mind, that their king was dead.   
Nimrodel sighed, supposing that it had indeed been a fall of rocks that had disturbed her, and stood awhile watching the sky darken behind the mountain peaks until they were lost in the darkness, all save Fanuidhol, where the beacon of the dwarves burned bright and fierce.   
But her unease was not grief, but apprehension, she feared... she could not tell. The return of the Noldor had stirred so much trouble, so much killing... Now they were in Lothlórien, and there was trouble in Khazad-dûm. 

The dream came again, it was always the same, there was a tall ship, with white sails and a swan prow, and then Amroth, poor Amroth, in all his armour, drowned, sinking slowly into the dark depths, his arms wide as though to embrace her again, and his long hair floating up around his head...

She could not tell him of the dream. All the eldar knew that dreams may arise from the darkness, from the Enemy, and be lies, or threats, or instruments of torment. Yet what if it were truly a vision of that which would, or could come to pass? How could she keep him from the ship? 

After a day and a night, in which the dream came once more to darken her mood, Mithrellas came riding swiftly up the hillside, calling as she came. "Nimrodel! Nimrodel! Tidings! Alas, grim tidings!"  
"Mithrellas! Will you climb?"  
"My dear, do come down, you... come down."  
The voice of Mithrellas, accustomed to mirth, sounded more troubled than Nimrodel had ever heard. She could imagine no reason why the death of Durin would trouble Mithrellas, they had not met. It seemed unlikely that war had been declared, relations were distant, but cordial. Nimrodel hurried down the long stair, running her fingers lightly down the smooth, silvery-grey bark, smiling at the famiiar touch of home.   
Mithrellas was pale, and agitated, she gripped Nimrodel by the upper arms "A balrog! A balrog has been sleeping" she pointed past the mallorn, into the side of the mountain "in there! A balrog! The dwarves have awoken it! It has slain their king, and many others, it is loose!"  
Nimrodel backed slowly away until she felt the mallorn behind her, and pressed against it "But this is terrible! I cannot stay here... My poor tree... our poor Lothlórien..."  
"Amroth is coming, we are going south, beyond the White Mountains. He wishes to sail, to the undying lands, away from all this..." Mithrellas gestured towards the mountains.   
But Nimrodel clung to the mallorn "My tree..."  
"My dear... We cannot save trees from a balrog."  
"I must save Amroth from a ship."  
"This is no time for riddles!"  
"I have dreamed his death, many times, drowning, and a ship."  
"What will you do?"  
"He will not sail without me."


End file.
